


The Road We Travel

by ArcticMel



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Breakfast, Child endangerment (brief), Friendship, Gen, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Cap2 and Thor2, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:36:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcticMel/pseuds/ArcticMel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stark Tower has been rebuilt, the Avengers have taken up residence and, with Steve's guidance, the other members have transitioned from individuals with a common cause into a true team.  On one dark night that bond is challenged when an incident forces Steve to question whether this is where he really belongs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally intended to work as part of the team-building across the [Why Thursday Night Isn't Board Game Night](/series/32019) series, this was how I had planned to add in Steve but the darker tone did not work within those stories. Instead, Pictionary was flipped to add in Bruce and an early draft of the first two chapters that now comprise this fic were shelved until I was compelled to find Steve again. As a result, part of Chapter 2 feels similar to Steve and Bruce in Pictionary because it was inspired by this work and because I really didn't know if any of this would ever see the light of day.

 

“Cap, wait!  STOP!” Tony’s voice echoed over the comm.

Steve was oblivious to anything other than the man in a dark three-piece suit running through the night.  The villain's footsteps thundered along the wooden dock toward a warehouse as he weaved in and out of the lighting, a five-year-old, brown-haired boy slung over his shoulders.  

Despite his serum-enhanced speed, Steve knew he wouldn’t be able to reach them in time.  In mid-stride, he flung his shield ahead of the man in a desperate attempt to slow him down.  The effort was just a second too late.  The tone of vibranium rang out as the disk ricocheted off the metal door, pulled outward as the man ducked inside.  

Steve swore as he caught his returning shield and barreled through the open doorway.  Skidding to a halt, he ducked behind a stack of shipping containers.  He had just enough time to register a bank of analog control panels in the center of the space before the heavy door slammed shut behind him, plunging the warehouse into darkness.

As his eyes adjusted, he noticed a faint red glow from the direction of the panels.  The light was coming from a gem mounted to the center panel.  It was obviously a power source but Steve wasn’t sure if it was it magical or just something Tony would have lying around in the lab.

His speculations were interrupted by a loud click.  The sound echoed off the walls and a pool of bright light was cast down into the center of the room.  Steve threw a hand up to shield his eyes and peered cautiously around the containers.  

He felt as though his heart might stop in his chest.

In the center of the light was the boy, cocooned in heavy chains, suspended from the metal girders in the ceiling.  He appeared to be unconscious, head lulled to the side, his small body swaying slightly, high above the cement floor.  

There was clearly some level of magic at play here.

Sharp footsteps pulled Steve's attention back down to the control panels.  Shifting his shield in preparation, Steve allowed a second of self-flagellation for having just done one of the things he constantly lectured Tony on: storming into a situation ahead of the team, unaware and uninformed.  

Thinking of his partner brought another realization to the forefront: the voices in his ear were gone.  

Steve smothered his frustration at having to face a magic-using villain alone.  He had put himself in this situation.  His team would come when they were able, his focus was to save the child.

Standing below the boy, the villain smoothed out a satin lapel and adjusted a cufflink.  The man's broad-shouldered build rivaled Steve's.  The cut of his suit was vaguely reminiscent of Tony's wardrobe, a discordant association that only served to raise the level of Steve's anger.

With a deep breath, Steve stepped out into the light.  Drawn up to his full height, the steel of Captain America’s voice rang out in the abandoned warehouse, “You will release the hostage.  Now.”

The man took a casual step forward, his hand now hovered over the gem on the control panel.  “And why would I do that?"  He grinned as he flexed his fingers casually, watching the red light reflect off his skin. "You certainly are confident.  The infamous Captain America.  Too used to beating the bad guys, I suppose.  The dice always role in your favor, don't they?"

Steve's refused to rise to the bait.  "The rest of the Avengers are just outside the door and you don't strike me as the type of man who needs a hostage to make his point." Steve lowered his shield. "I give you my word that I'll stay with you if you let the boy go.”

“Your...word?” the villain replied, incredulously. “Really?"

Steve’s eyes strayed upward to the small head of tousled, brown curls and the innocent, tranquil expression of a sleeping child.  Untied laces dangled from one small red shoe and Steve couldn't help but see in that boy the potential of a young, fearless Tony, boisterous Thor, inquisitive Bruce and mischievous Clint.

Voice steady and clear, “Please,” Steve said, softly.  Tony had whispered more than once, before kissing Steve deeply, that it was the absolute sincerity inherent in Steve that both left the engineer breathless and caused even villains to pause.

The man's eyes narrowed, evaluating the super-soldier.  Unyielding, Steve held his gaze.

"Well, you are correct - I don't need the child.  Just cheese for the trap, as it were,” he admitted with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “And, technically, you will win tonight; I assure you that I'll be leaving soon.  Oh, though not with you in tow, but I do appreciate the offer,” he said with a sly grin.  

His demeanor now all business, he continued, “I will, however, need that pretty little shield.  Truly, such a marvel of engineering is fit only for display.  Why don't you place it on the ground and back away."

Steve complied, hands raised.

"Ah, there's a good soldier.  Now, in return, a parting gift; perhaps a lesson in humility for the great Captain America?" A wicked grin formed across the villain's face, "The child is yours if you can answer one question correctly."

Steve’s heart sped up.  A question?  Great.  He wasn’t Tony or Bruce.  Or Clint, Natasha or Coulson, for that matter.  No.  Today, his best would need to be enough.

“Fine.  I accept your terms," Steve said.

“Excellent!  You strike me as someone who's well-read: ‘Do-gooding is like treating hemophilia - the real cure is to let hemophiliacs bleed to death before they breed more hemophiliacs.’  I find this quote to be quite apropos.  Tell me, what American novel is it from?”  

Steve's heart sunk.  “I honestly don’t know,” he said.  "If you know about my shield, you must know that I was out of the world for seventy years.  This has nothing to do with the boy.  You don’t need my answer to release him.”

“Well now," said the villain, "beggars can’t be choosers, can they?" His fingers slid slowly along the panel's smooth metallic surface.  “You have three chances to guess the correct answer before the chains tighten.  I’m afraid I didn’t take the time to read through to the end of the spell so I’m not sure of the exact consequences...but I can hazard a guess."  His hand was back over the glowing power source, a sly grin played on his lips, "Of course, I could speed this up with a simple touch to the gem, if you feel this is too difficult a task for a man of your advanced age..."

"No," said Steve, "that won't be necessary."  He drew in a deep breath, “Of Mice and Men.”

The villain shook his head slowly and the child remained unchanged.

Steve's fingers curled into fists.  He was a man lost to time; his enhanced strength and strategic mind could not help him here.  

He was going to fail.

“This Side of Paradise," he said, knowing that he would be wrong.

Again, nothing changed.

“It appears you have only one guess remaining, Captain.”

"Look, let me contact my team.  Just for a moment.  You'll be free to leave with the shield after that.  I will order the Avengers not to harm you.  No one will get in your way."

The villain's expression became one of impatience.  “My terms were clear.  And I assure you my escape will not be a problem.  Now, I warn you, this is the limit of my generosity.  You're stalling.  Answer.”

Steve couldn’t keep the frustration and desperation from showing on his face.  He tipped his head down, sending a quick prayer off into the heavens.

“Answer or I will crush him!” the villain yelled.

Jaw set, stance solid, Steve looked up; his blue eyes hard, unyielding, boring into the other man.  “You will regret this,” he spat, with a ferocity that would make Nick Fury flinch.  The villain only sneered.

Steve's attempt at a final answer was interrupted by a thunderous crash.  Hulk smashed through the warehouse wall with a roar, Ironman and Thor close behind him.  

The villain lunged toward the gem.  

"NO!" yelled Steve as he charged the other man, both of them slamming into the cement floor.  They were showered in sparks as Mjolnir smashed into the control panel, crushing the glowing gem an instant after Ironman cut the chains from the ceiling.  

As the unconscious boy was flown to safety, Hawkeye and Black Widow appeared, all weapons trained on the man Steve had pinned to the ground.

The villain was saying something, likely begging for his life, but to Steve, fists full of expensive lapels, it was all just background noise.  

Arrogance.  The sheer arrogance.  To toy with the life of a child, to remove an innocent life from this world without a second thought.  And for what?   _Just to prove Steve could fail?_  

A blaze of fury ignited in Steve's chest as he landed a jab to the gut, followed by a round house punch to the jaw, rendering the villain unconscious.

"Cap," Natasha said quietly, her tone acting as a warm hand on his shoulder.

Steve's chest heaved as he sucked in deep breaths and the fog of flashbacks to bullies in his youth cleared.  He stood slowly and blinked at his clenched fists, slightly alarmed and ashamed at his momentary loss of control.  Taking a step backward, he stumbled over something on the floor.  Leaning down, he picked up the object.

Around him, Hulk roared and huffed, smashing the remains of the control panel, Thor worked carefully to break the chains and untangle the child, and Clint zip-tied the villain's hands and feet under the watchful steel of Natasha's gun.  

Steve stood, oblivious and unmoving in the center of the chaos, focused on the small red shoe, dwarfed by his serum-enhanced hand.

The sensation of cool metal on his shoulder startled him back to the present.

"Steve," said Tony, softly, faceplate open to reveal a look of concern that told Steve this was not the first time the engineer had tried to attract his partner's attention.  

"Steve, the kid’s fine."  Tony's eyes narrowed as he sought eye contact from Steve. "We've got him and he's fine."  Red and gold hands squeezed Steve's shoulders tightly, and blue eyes met brown.  "It's okay," Tony whispered, "it's done."

Steve's gaze refocused just above Tony's shoulder and he nodded curtly.

A gauntlet-clad arm around his waist, Steve allowed Tony to lead him over to the child.  The little boy looked so small in Thor's arms.  There were red marks on his skin from the chains.  Steve's jaw tightened.

"This sleep spell is known to me," said Thor, "the boy will wake within the hour, unharmed."  Looking up, the Asgardian appraised Steve with a weary, knowing expression, "You have done well, my friend."  

Thor's words carried a tone of warmth and reassurance, but Steve's gaze remained on the boy.  As the SHIELD paramedics swarmed onto the scene, he gave the child's shoe to Thor.

He leaned into Tony for a moment and then stepped out of the embrace, picked his shield up off the ground, and walked out into the night.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Head tipped down, face awash in shadows, Steve was nestled in a plush armchair set against the far side of the wall-to-ceiling picture window in the common living room.  The massive space was lit only by the filtered rays of dawn peeking through deep grey storm clouds.  The tower was quiet, for once, and Steve was lost in thought as the tiny tap, tap, tap of rain drops began to hit the glass.  As time passed unnoticed, the soft sound crescendoed to a constant rushing of rain, filling the room, cocooning Steve.  

He found comfort in that sound.  

When Steve was very young, he was often ill.  Forced to be the sole supporter, his mother couldn't afford to stay home with her frail son so Steve learned early to be very quiet and their neighbor would come by to check on him periodically until his mother's shift was over.  Steve would lay in his bed, alone, propped up by pillows, watching the rain fall outside his tiny window.  The sound of the storm blocked out the bustle of the city, the hungry baby crying through the thin apartment walls, the strangled wheeze of his own breathing.  

As the rest of the world fell away, he could escape his life and lose himself to his imagination.  Locked in a dance down his window pane, the dirt and grime of the city swirled together.  Sometimes those streaks of rain battled against each other; dragons and knights caught in cyclical, unpredictable conflict.  Other times, the drops combined to form something larger.  Something able to overwhelm the enemy, to wash them off the glass effortlessly.

Now, gazing out of the tower, water ran down in wide ribbons.  The sharp lines of the buildings blurred, colors smudging, blending together to form an abstract painting of the cityscape on a mammoth canvas.  

Chaos disguised by a cloke of cohesion; a reflection of how this modern world looked to Steve.  

Battle was black and white.  Leadership and teamwork, linear and defined; old hat.  The persona of Captain America hid the spaces inbetween.  The time where Steve Rogers felt left out of this life.  

He found himself working to make sure that the others didn't see those moments.  It was hard to explain, and easier for him to ignore than address so, for now, Steve kept that to himself.  They were just becoming a true team, showing trust in each other.  He needed to keep a thin, outer layer of Captain America present outside the battlefield a little while longer.

Of course, Tony knew the moments Steve felt lost.  Often, Steve sought comfort in his lover's arms, anchoring him to the present.  Today though, the weight of the day was oppressive.  Smothering.  

He sought a wide open space.  Unable to face the scrutiny of the outside world, within the tower, the window was his calm.  His escape.

At the edge of his field of vision, it was Bruce who quietly entered the room and took a seat in the matching arm chair on the opposite side of the window.  The physicist's gaze was drawn only to the view, and companionable silence enveloped the pair.  Steve knew Bruce had no expectations or agenda.  He would be infinitely patient; a trait that Tony, despite his best efforts, struggled to master.

It was amazing to Steve how someone who shared time with The Hulk could enter a room without a ripple.  It wasn't that Banner's intention was stealth, like the assassins.  Bruce ensured that the others were always aware of his presence for his and their own safety but he didn't need a grand entrance like Tony or Thor tended toward.  Steve found it ironic that, as the group became more cohesive, Bruce had moved toward being more present, although not active, in the communal spaces, while that same feeling of safety led Steve to feel that he didn't always need to run the show.  That, like today, he could walk away when he needed to.

Steve was also aware of the irony of needing to be alone.  He had woken up from the ice to find his world ripped away.  He knew Bruce had experienced that many times and, in truth, the possibility of having those he knew and loved living in this world but unreachable left Steve struggling to decide whether that was preferable to having friends and family gone in an instant.  

The grief of losing his past, part of his identity, was sometimes so unexpected and overwhelming, Steve couldn't breathe, despite his enhanced lungs.  

Initially, it had been something simple, predictable, like the sound of a motorcycle or gunfire, that would pull him out of the present.  Now, though, he could manage the obvious.  The sound of his teammates over the coms and the strategies of battle kept him grounded.  

It was the seemingly mundane moments that caught him off guard.  The smell of his mother's perfume on a civilian he rescued.  The shine of the sunlight off a window pane, snapping him back to the glint of the side mirror on the transport carrying the Howling Commandos.  The view of brunette hair tousled by the breeze, feminine curves just outside his field of vision.  

Without a mission from SHIELD, there was time to dwell.  To be haunted by the potential of a life unlived, and all those lives that had been lived without him.  

Steve struggled with his own flaws and today, the team's reassurance and the safety of the boy had not been enough.  

Despite the outcome, he had failed.

Captain America be damned; was there truly a place for Steve Rogers in this world?

"It should have been different," Steve said softly.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bruce's profile turn toward him.  "It shouldn't have been me."

For a long moment, the only sound was the rain.  

"Well...," Bruce began, a tiny, wry smile crossing his face, "it certainly shouldn't have been me."

Steve let out a soft huff of laughter and felt a genuine grin spread across his face.  He looked over and saw the depth of the warmth in the other man's eyes.  Steve sighed and his grin faded.  "I rushed in.  I was a fool."

Bruce tipped his head in consideration. "While I would never admit this to Tony, sometimes rushing in is the right thing to do.  It took time for JARVIS to see into that warehouse.  You did what you could with the information you had.  That was all anyone could ask."

"No," Steve said, frustration and anger becoming almost tangible, filling the room, "it wasn't enough."

Exasperated, Steve leaned forward in his chair, dragging a hand through his hair, "I mean, the boy's safe and that is absolutely the most important outcome here but, sometimes, I-- I feel like the amount of 'good' I do matters only in that moment.  Across decades of time, the outcome never changes.  Clearly, the battle raged on, with or without me. And despite all that work and all those sacrifices, somewhere, another villain is just going to grab another child, destroy another city, take the lives of more innocent people."  

Energy spent, Steve turned his attention back to the window, his voice just audible over the rain, "...It's so dark out there."

Bruce focused his attention on a thread on his armchair.  "It's always dark somewhere.  No matter where I went, I couldn't escape it.  Couldn't outrun it."  He turned back to Steve. "Planetary rotation is hell," he said flatly.

Steve laughed and looked over at Bruce who smiled back apologetically.

The physicist's expression turned solemn.  "Steve, you know I'm not comfortable here yet, but with you, and Tony, and the rest of this crazy group...  I'm learning the advantage of not facing the darkness alone.

"The quote you couldn’t place?  It was from a science fiction novel, 'Stranger in a Strange Land'.  Bastard gave you a novel published in 1961."

Bruce paused and turned away, jaw clenched, and Steve swore he heard the rumble of the Hulk above the rain.  He watched as Bruce took a measured breath and relaxed his hand out of a fist.

A tight smiled crossed Bruce's face and he continued, "In that respect, he was right.  Our work, saving people, we can only hope to ‘breed do-gooders.’  

"To that boy, you, Steve Rogers, made a difference.  He'll grow up hearing the stories of how your choice saved his life.  Because of you, he'll grow up to do good in this world and his choices will touch thousands of people over his lifetime.  And, hopefully, all those people will do the same - breeding 'do-gooders'.  Exponentially."

Bruce's focus returned to the window.  "Faith in humanity.  I know that sounds ridiculous coming from me but that's my answer to the darkness, Steve.  I think it's the glacial pace of measurable progress that blinds us to the truth.  

“Sometimes our vision is so narrow, so focused, that it seems like we're traveling alone in darkness when, really, we're all walking down the same road, side-by-side."

Steve tipped his head down.  With irony, he found he now needed the reminder, the point of all his team building exercises: none of them needed to walk alone.  

The choice was his.

The Earth would continue to spin on and the darkness would come again, but they were safe with each other - this group of battered and broken people who braved their own demons to call themselves 'The Avengers'.  

Maybe this time, under the chaos, there was cohesion.

Bruce moved to rise. "I promised Thor I'd help with breakfast.  We're working on reducing the number of eggshells in the omelets," he said with a conspiratorial grin.

Bruce tipped his head toward Steve, face awash in kindness. “I'm going to go assemble the troops.  There's a chair waiting for you in the kitchen, when you're ready,” he said and strolled out of room, leaving the other man alone with his thoughts.

Spirit buoyed, Steve felt reassured that his place in this world was waiting right where he'd left it.  He would join his team for breakfast but there was someone he needed to find first.

 


	3. Chapter 3

"Jarvis, could you please tell me where Tony is?" Steve asked.

"Certainly.  He is currently in his workshop.  He just spoke with Dr. Banner and intends to meet the team in the main kitchen.  I estimate he will be leaving the workshop in ten minutes.  Shall I tell him you are on your way?"

"No, thank you, Jarvis.  I'll wait for him to come to me," Steve said and headed off toward the elevator.  There was a small lounge area hidden behind the wall for the elevator and the stairwell.  He intended to wait there and intercept Tony.

For the next eight minutes, Steve sat in the darkened alcove, out of sight, watching his teammates appear one-by-one and wander down the long hallway, toward the kitchen.

Tony was the last to arrive.  The elevator doors opened and Steve watched as his partner exited.  His back to Steve, clad in a black T-shirt and faded jeans, the billionaire paused to scrub a hand through his already dishevelled hair and then started toward the kitchen.

"Tony," said Steve softly, pitched so only the other man could hear.

Tony stopped abruptly and turned back toward the lounge.  His expression was one of unadulterated joy, and suddenly Steve forgot to breathe.

Moving toward each other, Steve got as far as the archway before he was wrapped in Tony's arms.  Steve tightened the embrace and buried his face in the crook of his lover's neck, taking a moment to draw comfort and regain his balance in the grounding warmth and scent of the other man.

He could feel the strength of Tony's fingers in his hair.  In a soft huff from Tony, he could read the sorrow of his partner not being able to protect him, an apology on behalf of the world for disappointing the super-soldier, and the release of bottled fear and concern.

Steve took a deep breath and straightened, still in Tony's embrace.  The devotion and passion in Tony's warm gaze was reflected in Steve's blue eyes.  The engineer flicked his gaze downward and Steve felt a callused thumb sweep over the pulse point in his wrist.  A gentle reminder of safety, understanding; gratitude that Steve was present and assurance the he was irreplaceable.

Steve kissed Tony deeply, desperately, and then broke away, both men out of breath, Steve’s forehead coming to rest on Tony’s shoulder.

"Damn," said Tony softly.  "How would I survive without you?"

"God willing, you'll never know," Steve answered, intertwining their hands and moving them both back into the privacy of the lounge.

Tony pulled Steve onto the couch.  Steve leaned back into Tony's chest, wrapped in the engineer's arms, he reveled in the warmth and calm.  He felt Tony kiss the top of his head and shift a hand to card through his hair.

"You," said Tony softly, pulling Steve in tighter, "are one of the most amazing men I’ve ever known."

Steve leaned in as Tony's lips brushed behind his ear.  Steve's fingers intertwined with Tony's free hand.  He tipped his head back to meet the engineer's brown eyes.  "All of this is amazing.  And you..."  Steve trailed off, guilt from last night creeping in, overwhelmed, his eyes closed.

"Hey," Tony whispered, "it's okay.”  Tony placed a chaste kiss on Steve’s forehead and waited for a moment. “Steve, look at me, please.”   

Steve sighed and obeyed Tony's request but his embarrassment was forgotten as he was met with a kind, gentle gaze that reminded him why he was so desperately in love with this man.

Tony smiled down at Steve.  “We all have our demons.  No one on this team will judge you, least of all, me."

Steve returned Tony’s grin and leaned up to kiss his partner, shifting around to face him.  The super-soldier's free hand slid along the sliver of exposed skin at Tony’s waist, fingers curving up just under the hem of the soft cotton t-shirt, hands sliding across his back, over shifting muscles, brushing up the vertebrae of his spine, making Tony gasp as Steve pressed his lover tight to him.  Steve’s heart raced as the edge of Tony’s arc reactor pushed against his chest and Tony’s fingernails grazed his back.  Excitement building, Steve deepened the kiss, the rush of emotion and arousal washing over him.  

Suddenly aware of his hips shifting forward, Steve forced himself focus through the haze, gently pulling away from Tony, leaving both men gasping for breath, clinging to each other, lost in a moment of time.  

Steve blocked out everything but the feel of Tony’s pounding pulse and the heat from his skin, wishing desperately, futilely, that they could stay this way.  

As his heart rate slowed to normal, Steve shifted slightly and Tony made a soft sound in protest, nipping at Steve's collar bone.  Steve grinned, face hidden in Tony's hair, kissing unruly brown locks.  "Breakfast with the team," he whispered.

Tony grunted softly.  "But-"

"No," said Steve, grinning. "Although," he began, enticingly, "I don't happen to have any other plans today..."

Tony smiled wickedly, raising an eyebrow. "Hmm.  Well then.  We certainly can't keep everyone waiting."  He kissed Steve once more, hopped off the couch and strolled off toward the kitchen, leaving Steve laughing in his wake.

Steve sat there for a few moments longer, watching the man he loved walk away, moving with an exaggerated saunter for his benefit, and wondered how he'd gotten so lucky.

Steve smiled to himself and ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to be somewhat presentable.  In contrast to Tony's new-found enthusiasm, Steve leisurely made his way down the hall to the kitchen.

Judging from the noise, breakfast preparation was in full swing.  He stood just out of sight, and took the opportunity to watch his team.

“No, I mean it!"  Clint's enthusiasm was palpable from the hallway.  "I saw them on the internet or TV or somewhere.  You form the bacon around them and, presto!  Bacon bowls!  Seriously, how hard could that be.  Best invention," he said, flipping and stacking pancakes with ease.  

“Ah!” said Thor in amazement from his place by the stove. The demigod was armed with a whisk and standing behind Bruce's left shoulder.  “The forms of bacon available are wondrous!  I shall look for these bacon bowls when we venture out to the store."

“Yes," said Bruce, his tone serious but eyes dancing, "that is definitely what this breakfast is missing."

“Don’t encourage him,” Coulson chided.  The agent then rolled his eyes at Clint and continued to set up plates and silverware on the massive kitchen table.

“Oh, come on, Phil.  You know you’d eat one,” Clint teased.  “Nat will get them for me for Christmas, won’t you, Nat?”

Natasha was standing at the island, with her back to those cooking and a clear view of Coulson.  She was carving intricate flowers out of cantaloupe and honeydew in the swift and efficient method that Steve expected from the assassin.  

She glanced back toward Clint.  “There _is_ only one way to your heart,” she replied and grinned across to Coulson.

“Yeah,” said Tony, off to the side, leaning back against the counter with a mug of coffee in his hand, “via a coronary.”  

Taking a sip of his coffee and turning to Natasha, he continued, “Please be sure to add extra bacon to my plate, will you?  Oh, and toast.  There should be toast…,” he said, distracted as he set his mug down and began rummaging around in the cabinet below him.

"No!  No toast!" said Bruce, ducking past Thor and handing the demigod his spatula in one fluid motion while working his way toward Tony.

Natasha snickered.

"Aha!" Tony exclaimed with triumph as he emerged with toaster in hand.  He set it on the counter and proceeded to unravel the cord with dramatic flourish. "Really, Bruce?  Do you recall how we acquired said appliance?"

Clint grinned as Bruce slid past him.

"It wasn't- I mean, I couldn't give it back.  Just, could we not-"  Bruce was now at Tony's side, hand massaging his forehead.  "Tony, please."

A half smile crossed Tony's face as he affectionately patted the white, two-slotted toaster with a picture of Edgar Allan Poe on the front.  With a dramatic sweep of his arm, he recited, "'And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted -- Nevermore!'"

Steve chose that moment to wander into the kitchen.

Bruce sighed deeply and turned to plead his case to Tony's better half. "Steve," his voice filled with exasperation and a quiet undertone of desperation that he would deny later.

The super-soldier took a seat at the table and smothered a grin with his fist as he rested his head on his hand.  "It _does_ make excellent toast," Steve admitted in an apologetic tone as he watched Tony drop bread into the slots.

"You can't give it away," said Coulson, smiling. "What would you tell the nuns?"

Clint snickered loudly and Thor nodded, sagely, crossing his arms.

"Fine," Bruce said raising his hands in defeat and glaring at a gleeful Tony.  "I'm never attending another fundraiser with you."

"Oh, come on, you were wonderful!   _And_ , you won a prize!" Tony replied, gesturing toward the novelty appliance, his point punctuated by a popping noise as two pieces of toast bearing the likeness of Edgar Allan Poe sprang into existence.

Tony held them up for everyone to see.  "These are perfect!  Do you think the best way to pay homage is with butter or jam?"

Faced with a roomful of snickering superheros, Bruce grumbled and moved back to help Thor.  The demigod patted Bruce sympathetically on the shoulder and handed him back the spatula.

"'All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream,'" recited Natasha wistfully as she placed cats carved from oranges and swans composed of apples onto a large bowl of mixed berries and balled melon and carried them over to the table.

Clint set down a platter piled high with pancakes in the middle of the table.  He took the chair next to Coulson, stacked four pancakes on his partner's plate, doused them with syrup, sprayed on an impressive swirl of whipped cream, plopped an orange cat on the top and then proceeded to swiftly and efficiently cage in the fruit feline with strips of bacon.  

Once finished, Clint took a moment to appreciate his work. "There," he said and set the plate down in front of Phil.  "Don't say I never make you anything."

Coulson laughed and slid the plate in front of Clint.  "Not that I don't appreciate your homemade gifts...," he said and leaned in for a brief kiss as he procured Clint's empty plate and selected an omelette and fruit for himself.

"Fine,” Clint said with mock indignance, “that is the last time I serve you breakfast."

Coulson raised an eyebrow and received a mischievous grin from Clint as the archer cut into his pancake creation.

As everyone passed around platters of food, pitchers of juice, and slices of literary toast, the partaking of breakfast and joyful banter ensued.  Steve settled in to enjoy his food, choosing to sit back and let the conversations swirl around him.  Across the table, he watched Clint steal a strawberry from Coulson's plate.  The archer winked conspiratorially at him and Steve smiled back.  He overheard Natasha discussing with Thor the finer points of cracking eggs and made a mental note to warn Bruce about that later, as the physicist was currently occupied with trying to convince Tony that, no, he would not like the toaster better with 'modifications'.  Tony, still actively debating Bruce, slid an arm around Steve's waist.  

Somewhere in that moment, Steve truly knew he was safe here, no matter what the future might bring.  There was no need to hide.  He would always be welcome here for who he was.  

This was family.

He was home.

****  
  
  


*************************************  


Should you need a bacon bowl maker: https://www.buyperfectbacon.com/

Or Edgar Allan Poe toaster (Yes, this is a thing you can own!):

<http://www.burntimpressions.com/poe-toasters.php#.VBZPgo63PVU>

Or a picture of a cat made out of oranges (I could not find the original post so you’ll have to try making it yourself without instructions - just ask Nat).

<http://catmoji.com/pic/rg4/orange-cat-made-of-orange-found-on-facebook/>

Or swans made out of apple (a how-to video): <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xW0wxLeRT4I>

 

**Author's Note:**

> *The source of the quote requested by the villain is from “Stranger in a Strange Land” by Robert A. Heinlein.
> 
> *********************************  
> As always, a huge thanks to [Jadesymb](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesymb) and [BrassLizard](http://brasslizard.tumblr.com/). Their edits and continued support are invaluable!


End file.
